But What Will We Eat
by Reefarious
Summary: A group of friends and strangers experience the beginning of the end. Sorry for the poor description. Rated M for all sorts of reasons. Mostly just doing it for fun, but criticism, etc. appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

_ "They did an excellent job of hiding it from us, of confusing us. It started with a new drug, Kat-49. The stuff had been around for a few years. _

_It __was manufactured in China, and I suppose you could say we haven't been on the best of terms with China lately. Maybe it was the Kat-49._

_Maybe that was all a lie. It isn't as though the American government's never lied before, so... yeah... the Kat-49 stuff may all have been a lie. _

_Maybe it's how the disease got out, initially. What I am certain of is that at least some of it was lies. Someone offered me the drug once. I didn't _

_do it. That was almost two years to the date before all this happened, though, before all this trouble._

_ The trouble started in 2012, in springtime, at Daytona Beach. UVid went nuts that day. At one point, I couldn't even get the site to load. I _

_first __saw it on a local news page online. The story went that some Texan on vacation was at a strip club, playing big-tipper to a pretty blonde with_

_curly hair. After an hour of non-stop dancing, she'd gone backstage, leaving her Texan waiting patiently for her return for about 25 minutes. _

_She did not return the same Krystal Street. The Texan supposedly reported to police from the hospital that she'd looked wild after her break, _

_something hadn't been right. He told the cops he just figured she'd had a little to much tweak on top of the whiskey shots he'd been feeding her. _

_He said she was really 'workin' that pole', so he'd slipped the 9__th__ and decidedly last-earned $20 bill into her tip jar, making sure to show it to her _

_cleavage before dropping it in. She was only wearing her thong and a pair of ankle-length 6" spike-heeled boots, black leather... studded with _

_what appeared to be copper, just like her thong. This motherfucker was really paying attention to those shoes. He said in the report that she _

_then ripped the thong off and threw it straight down. It landed on her boot, and Mr. Tips-Twenties-Texan had gotten 'pretty dadgum excited' and _

_picked it up, held it against his nose and mouth, and inhaled the scent of the leather thong, perfumed in pussy and stripper sweat. Okay, he _

_wasn't that descriptive, but he did say he picked up her panties and sniffed them. And, according to Mr. Big-Shot-Twenty-Dollar-Texan, he _

_reckoned that had to be what had 'ticked her off so bad'. He said that when he did that, Krystal Street had come towards him with her mouth _

_wide open. She'd ripped his shirt __open. None of this was looking bad to Big Texas so far. But then Miss Street went for his torso, just where chest _

_meets beer gut, and attempted to eat him. _

_ A few of the more courageous patrons in this bar went in to help him out. They pulled Krystal off him and tossed her back onto the stage, her _

_naked back sliding across the slick floor and slamming her face into a pole. She got back up, the bone around her left eye clearly cracked, blood _

_trickling down her cheek from the outer-corner of her eye. She ran for him again, managed to get a nipple and connect the original wound to the _

_new one by way of chewing, and this time, he was ready for her. The Twenty-Dollar-Texan was packin' heat, and he was done being a gentleman. _

_He shot her once (left hip), again, (just below the left breast), a third time (just an inch or two above her navel), again (an inch or so below the_

_navel, towards the left). And, according to the alleged police report, he'd finally shot her in the heart, and that had done her in. _

_I think we know now that her heart was clearly not the last place Krystal Street was shot. _

_ None of the reporting on the incidents that followed - spreading slowly through Florida and then Georgia and the Carolinas, and out and out _

_and __out... and randomly sometimes, too... 3 Florida cities, suddenly 1 incident in Arkansas, and then back to Florida until it's lost and just about _

_then __you see that it is still radiating outwards to surrounding areas – NONE of that reporting was ever as horrible as the stuff on UVid. The_

_mainstream stations cut out the screams, and the worst of the footage. It wasn't as real. They were desensitizing us, slowly and gently, _

_sometimes making it almost comical in the expressionless way they read the stories and the jokes they eventually cracked, always speculating _

_about the use of Kat-49, but only a few toxicology reports every clearly indicating it. _

_ A few similar reports followed the first, within the very first week. A man quarreling with his ex-girlfriend's new husband bites hubby's face _

_off. __The aggressor is naked._

_ A homeless man found eating the face off a long-missing teen in an alley. The homeless man is naked. _

_ It was weird... so many of them were naked. Just a way to call attention away from the stranger __parts, though, perhaps. Krystal Street was _

_the __only attacker who was ever reported to have died. Only four of the first fifty-six victims reportedly kicked it as a result of their injuries. Last_

_anyone heard, the Twenty-Dollar-Texan was alive and headed back to his pissed off wife in Amarillo. _

_ But I don't really believe that. It was a good show, but doesn't quite pass for reality. _

_ It wasn't long before headlines started referring to the incidents as "zombie attacks". It was like they were going about business as usual. _

_Very __clever, I think, peppering their headlines just like always, drawing in the viewers. And the viewers think it's clever, too. "Oh, those junkies,"_

_Timmy's mom said. "That's why I work hard to keep us in this neighborhood," agreed Timmy's dad. Timmy got his left foot eaten off at school by _

_a streaking principal "believed to be under the influence of bath salts". Voila!_

_ After fifty-six victims, there seemed to be a lull, at least in media coverage on the issue. It went from things that sounded wrong to nothing _

_at __all, but UVid was still blowing up with videos, and someone was taking them down as quickly as they could, but it wasn't enough. The very last_

_'real' report on mainstream news was an incident in New York City. It was in mid-July. Three of the eight assailants were naked. They'd found the _

_eight of them feasting heartily on two homeless men, who'd managed to shield their bodies behind a dumpster, keeping their vital bits safe but _

_tragically sacrificing their legs from the knees down. The story said the attackers were apprehended and the lives of the two men saved. It was _

_the first time we'd heard of the victims being naked, too. _

_ Eventually, there was story after story and upload after upload. It wasn't just UVid... independent news sources all over the internet lit up, _

_and it __all rolled in... but slowly, at first, and it all just sounded like trash partying on strange substances. Between the first zombie attack and my _

_first __personal encounter with any such creature, there was time for legislation among nearly all of the fifty states to make Kat-49 illegal, but the_

_formula kept changing to counter the laws, and shops kept supplying it, no real bother."_

Mo slammed the dirty composition notebook shut and laid it across her lap. She took a long, slow drag off her pipe and held the smoke

in her lungs for so many seconds she lost her count to an onslaught of uninvited thoughts. The little shopping center on the outskirts of

this tiny town _had_ been a good idea. Tragically after its time, though. She dug the little cigarette-shaped one-hitter back into the dug-out,

filling the tiny pipe with ground-down marijuana. She'd just harvested her plants. It was barely dried out enough for smoking when they'd

left, but she had enough to last a long while. Three and a half ounces, almost exactly. Plus a pouch of seeds. And best of all, she'd

managed to bring her whole kit with her – bag, one-hitter, seed pouch, and banana papers. Mo smiled despite the crowd gathering on the

ground below her.

She'd found the comp book on a desk in a manager's office here at the little shopping center. There was no blood in the room, and no

indication of a struggle. She liked to think its owner was still alive, maybe not far from her now. Maybe she (Mo felt certain the writer was

a "she") had been forced to make a quick escape, and left her comp book behind in her rush. She'd only just cracked the damn thing open,

but from almost the first sentence she'd begun to feel a special attachment to the author. Someone alive, someone she hadn't met yet...

maybe someone she'd see around and be able to return the comp book to with an apology for having read it. And maybe she'd tell her

that she knew not every attacker was using drugs, if the comp book's owner didn't already realize.

With her eyes closed tight, she leaned her head back into the canvas lawn-chair. Her own "first encounter with any such creature", she

was sure now, would never leave her. She remembered the lull in mainstream media coverage, herself. Like most people, she'd taken it to

mean the problem was going away. She began to wonder if the stuff online was just hype, or old videos being passed off for newer ones

when the crazy started to die down.

On a Thursday night, she'd kissed Shadow goodbye before driving back home. She'd checked on her parents. It was her mother's night

off, and she was sitting next to her husband's bed, watching him die. Mo had left school for a while to come home and help take care of

him. She didn't mind. Shadow still lived a couple of miles away from her parents with his dog and his brother and the motorcycle he'd built

himself from the ground up, and she was glad to have things the way they were before college and jobs had forced them to live sixty

miles apart. She'd driven home hoping he would sneak over later, like in high school, and throw little rocks at her window until she opened

it up and climbed out and went for a ride in the country hugged tightly to his back.

He did not. She said goodnight to her parents, locked herself in her bedroom at the other end of the house, and changed into her

favorite jammies. She rolled a fatty and sat down at her computer for a last look at the news, weather, and her e-mail before bed. She

took her time, stoned and still half-hoping to hear pebbles against her window. She watched another "zombie attack" video, a new one. It

was blurry and shaky, but it definitely looked like a naked man assaulting an elderly woman on a busy street. With a sigh and a shrug,

she'd finally climbed into bed, sticking her tongue out at the silent window.

She woke up to gray, early dawn light just starting to illuminate her room. In its eerie, curtain-hazed glow, she almost convinced

herself she was dreaming and put her head back on her pillow. Then she heard it again, the sound that had interrupted her sleep. It was

a slow and not at all rhythmic slap at her window, followed by a squeaking drag down. These sounds were punctuated occasionally with a

hard, loud "tap-draaaaaaaaaaaag", sort of like pebbles, but not quite. She assumed that Shadow was trying to creep her out, and

wondered at the hour at which he'd chosen to play this prank. Mo decided that she'd give him a little more than he was bargaining for.

She unbuttoned her top, the ends just barely hiding her chest, and flung the curtain back. Her hands, poised at the open ends of her top

and ready to deploy boyfriend flashing maneuvers, froze in place. Her vision of a hearty laugh followed by a drive deeper into the country

to catch a surprise sunrise and a little lovin' on a checkered blanket on a hill evaporated.

Her mother, four hundred pounds of woman adorned in sapphire Mu-mu, was pressed against the window. One sausagey hand,

fingers splayed carelessly, thudded against the glass and dragged down. And again. And again. Mo forced her eyes from the hand to the

chubby, blood-streaked face. The side of her mother's face was pressed to the window, but no breath appeared on the glass. The rollers

in the aging lady's hair were knocked askew, some of them missing. And a very large chunk of cheek was entirely gone. Her top teeth

were visible through the hole, and the bottom ones tapped the glass and dragged up again as Mo's mother snapped her jaw open and

shut.

Mo stood wide-eyed and stared until she couldn't stand to look any longer. She stepped back from the window, and let the curtain

slide off her shoulder and take the image away. She didn't realize she was buttoning her shirt as she grabbed her phone from the

computer desk and dialed 911, nor did she button it correctly. A dispatcher picked up, sounding frazzled, "911, what is your emergency?"

Mo stared at the curtain, her mind creating her mother's image behind it just as clearly as if it were still standing open. She let the

dispatcher's voice sink in for a few seconds. The dispatcher clearly didn't have much time for this. He cleared his throat and said sharply,

"911! Do you have an emergency?"

Mo shook her head suddenly, like a dog who's felt a raindrop on its ear. She swallowed, hard, and answered in a soft, breathy voice

from deeper in her throat than she knew she could go. "Yes, uh, yes... ummm... my mother..." she trailed off, dazed and struggling to

maintain control of her fear.

The dispatcher ran out of patience. "Listen to me ma'am: _Have_ you been bitten?"

"N-no... My mother, she's... outside... my window..."

"Ma'am, lock all the doors and don't let her in. Officers will be in your area shortly. Do not leave your house. Do not try to help your

mother. Close up your home and do not leave." A click. A dial tone.

Mo didn't hang up right away. She replayed the conversation in her mind, wishing she'd been able to form sentences. The steady,

mellow dial tone must have soothed her to the point of rational thought. And the first thought wasn't good. _Dad. _At last she snapped the

phone shut and tucked it into her waistband. With a deep breath, she opened her door and listened.


	2. Chapter 2

All was quiet. Mo could see through the outer doorway that the front door was closed. That was a start. With nothing in her bedroom that would make for a suitable weapon, she cast one last look at the curtain, steeled herself, and ventured into the hallway. The bathroom and spare bedroom that shared the little corridor with her room were closed up like always. Good.

Through the outer doorway and out into the den, the front door shut and locked, all the windows closed. The dining room was empty, and the kitchen, and the TV room. Another tiny corridor for a small study that had once served as a nursery, and the master bed and bath. The study door was closed. The master bathroom, closed. The door to the master bedroom was shut, but all was not silent behind it. Moans and grunts, and the rustling of bedsheets.

Mo slid a few feet left and went into the study, shutting the door softly behind her and carefully pressing the lock. She tip-toed to the back corner, where her softball gear had been collecting dust since senior year. She grabbed her favorite bat and gave it a quiet test swing. It would have to do.

She sneaked out just as silently as she'd gone in and returned to the bedroom door. She pressed an ear against it, hoping to get a better idea of what she'd find on the other side. She expected to hear the steady beep of her father's heart monitor, the hiss of the oxygen being pumped into his mask, but she only heard the same moaning and rustling. Even though that was all the information she really needed, deep down she still expected to open the door and see him lying in bed barely alive and completely unconscious.

He was jaundiced, and had been for weeks. He'd shriveled away, and she could count his bones as she looked at him, his expressionless eyes fixed on her face as he struggled to pull himself out of bed. She heard his ankle snap. It didn't delay his efforts. His bones rolled and jutted under his thin, tightly drawn skin. One hand reached up slowly, reached out for Mo as she stood and stared at him. The patio door was standing open, and Mo walked over calmly and closed it to make certain her mother wouldn't come back inside. Her father watched her walk to it and shut it, reaching out for her, his hand shakily tracing her path in the air between them as he struggled to gain his feet. Tears stung her eyes as she watched him, mostly tears of pity for the way he was fighting, mouth opening and closing as he stretched his hand towards her with more and more fervor the closer she got. His blank eyes didn't blink. Her mother's blood stained his sunken lips, and that was the last thing she saw clearly before she raised the bat and brought it down directly on the top of his head. His skull proved no match for her swing, and he crumpled to the floor.

She was thinking of opening the patio door and calling out to her mother when she heard a sound more magical than any pebble at her window – a revving motorbike engine accompanied by a ringing cell phone on her hip. Shadow! Shadow, Shadow, Shadow! She answered the phone. She could_ just_ make out his words over the deep rumbling of his engine. He was telling her that the front door was clear, that she needed to come out right now and they'd get the fuck outta there, that there were at least a dozen more coming from the busy end of the road, from the trailer parks and that stupid fucking little subdivision. She made a detour into her bedroom for her purse. She flung open her top desk drawer and pulled out the tin that contained all her bud and supplies, thanking her lucky stars that she'd gotten all that harvested and organized the morning before. She stuffed the tin into her oversized purse and slung it over her shoulder as she bolted out the front door and bounded onto the back of Shadow's bike.

Shadow, in much less of a hurry now that he could see her, turned to face Mo and kissed her cheek gently as he fixed her helmet onto her head, just like always. She couldn't help smiling at him, despite his grim expression. His eyes slid down her face and neck and shoulder, and on down to the bat she was still holding, extended out and down. Blood and bits of brain stood out noticeably against the blonde wood. He looked up at Mo, his eyes questioning and concerned. She just shook her head. "Long story. Get us the hell outta here." She wrapped her free arm tight around him and rested her head on his back, staring at the tip of the bat just inches above the road as Shadow took off.

They took backroads, mostly wooded roads with a house or open field here and there. They both knew where they were going – Asher and Jason's house was probably safer than their own houses closer to town, and besides they had to make sure the couple was okay. Asher was pregnant.

When they finally got there, Jason's Volkswagen was gone but Asher's Toyota was in the driveway. Both Mo and Shadow hopped off the bike and ran up to the house, knocking on windows and doors all the way around. Mo uttered "fuck" after each unsuccessful bang or knock, and Shadow pounded harder on the front door. Finally, she struck her open palms against the vinyl siding and hung her head low. "They're at the hospital. She had an appointment this morning. They're not here, they're at the hospital." Shadow kicked the door. Mo flipped her phone open and dialed Asher, then Jason. She slammed it shut, muttering another, "Fuck!" in the process. "We have to go get them... We-"

Shadow cut her off, nodding solemnly as he grabbed her hand and led her back to the bike. "Yeah, maybe we can get there and get them out before the shit _really_ hits the fan." he finished for her. Mo nodded weakly as they headed back in the direction of the trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

All the single boys at the graduation party thought Maddy was cute. She had lovely brown hair, not mousy but vibrant with tones and highlights. She had bright, hazel eyes. She had puffy, round lips that were naturally a dark shade of pink. She was a little bit chubby in all the right places. Marcus was sitting at the table with his friends, chatting with her and with all of them, confident that tonight he'd make her his girlfriend.

He was honest enough with himself to be sure that what the contest truly came down to was just beating Robby to the punch, and in his pocket was an envelope containing the poem he'd worked on for all of senior year. The final touch, much faster than the process of coming up with the poem but in a way far more tedious, had been to write it on pricey parchment paper using even pricier ink, in perfect Calligraphy.

They'd all met in seventh grade, and he'd adored her since freshman year. Good looks, good grades, and plump lady lumps aside, she could whoop their proverbial asses at Sorcerer's Glenn. Maddy's story was that she'd started playing when she was eleven, a full two years before the rest of them, and she'd won some pretty incredible cards over the years. Now the five of them were going to play a new variation on the game.

Wynn's dad was out of town for the weekend, and had actually given the okay on him having his friends over to celebrate graduation, and even to having "some" beer. Clearly he felt guilty for missing his son's big night.

They'd each brought their best deck and paid for a case of eight ounce cans purchased via Ciji's older brother, who was happy to pick up their beer as a gift for his little sister's graduation night. Tonight they'd be drinking a beer for every hit point they lost and each of their summons that was destroyed on the battlefield.

They sat arranged around the table, shuffling their cards. Ciji and Wynn stopped now and then to kiss or fondle each other, or to burst into laughter about something no one else seemed to understand. Marcus smiled right along with them, though. In just a few hours, when he had a chance to take Maddy aside, he'd give her his poem, recite it for her as she read it... she'd smile, maybe get teary eyed, and before long they'd be just like Ciji and Wynn... or better.

The seating went Wynn, Ciji, Marcus, Maddy, Robby. Maddy could feel Marcus and Robby on either side of her, staring holes into her most of the time, but she didn't mind. In fact, it had done wonders for her confidence all throughout high school.

She liked Robby's lips quite a lot, despite having been more interested in Marcus by far during freshman and sophomore years. Summer break after tenth grade she'd begun to waffle and finally, just hours ago at their graduation ceremony, she was pretty sure she'd made up her mind. Marcus just didn't give her the same quality of tingles that Robby did. There was something in Robby's eyes that Marcus didn't have – mystery or danger, she wasn't sure. Marcus spoke openly and freely. He was a good guy and an open book. Robby often sat quietly with his eyes narrowed and the barest hint of a smile on the left corner of his mouth.

Sure, Marcus was good-looking and probably a genius, with a heart of gold... but Robby was an enigma. She couldn't help feeling she'd learn something from him that even brilliant Marcus could never teach her, and the more she was around him, the more she felt the bonds of school and parents starting to slip away, the more she felt she simply had to find out what that something was.

When the game was underway, luck was not on Marcus's side. Wynn hit him for four hit points right away. He downed four of the tiny cans of beer. A few minutes later, he and Ciji hit each other for three more, and they both had to drink. For the first round, in fact, the five of them left themselves open to ensure a beer or two early on.

The game was promising to be an all-nighter. Robby and Wynn had had the least to drink three hours in. Marcus was staring and smiling openly at Maddy, and Maddy found herself looking more and more at Robby and feeling less and less concerned about who saw it. Now and then he would catch her staring, and his face would break into a broad grin, his cheeks tinted red.

The first time, Marcus decided to ignore it. He intentionally let Wynn take out one of his creatures so he could down another beer. Then it happened again and again and again. Each time, his heart sank a little deeper until it was a giant knot in his guts. He kept trying to draw her attention, involve her in conversation, get her mind off of Robby and onto him.

Maddy wasn't taking the bait. Marcus seethed, the liquid courage coursing through his brain rotting into liquid jealousy. He grew quiet. His jaw jutted ever so slightly, his lips drawn pencil-tight. He jerked his glasses off and dropped them loudly onto the table, then studied his hand through squinted eyes at almost arm's length. He smiled, but only on the inside. To everyone else, he was still beginning to look like something was very wrong.

He pulled three cards from his hand and laid them down in front of Robby. "With this combination, I destroy all your creatures. My Craw Demon is enchanted with Soul Grip, so I eat your HP and you are dead." It was his best deck, and this was a combination of cards that he could have used on them any number of times over the years but never had. Tonight, he would assert his dominance over Robby. Maybe there would be no fist fight, no sword dueling, no ten-paces-turn-and-fire, but it certainly wasn't beneath Marcus to take him out in one shot during a game of SG.

Robby's eyes went wide. He shuffled through his hand for a counter-spell, and came up empty. Marcus smiled, his eyes gleaming, and couldn't help but watch to see Maddy's reaction, to see if she was duly impressed. She was staring at her hand, engrossed in it. Maybe she didn't _want_ them to see her reaction.

_Probably doesn't want Robby to see her laughin' at him, _Marcus thought to himself with wicked glee. Just before Robby started to close his hand and put it under his library, she suddenly pulled out a card and threw it onto the battlefield. "I counter!" she cried, her eyes narrowed at Marcus. "I counter, put your ugly Craw Demon at the bottom of your library and just shut up and drink!"

Marcus blinked. Maddy felt absurd, having been so defensive. She could see by Marcus' expression that she'd most likely hurt his feelings. To try and smooth it over, she popped the top on a beer and passed it to him. She'd sacrificed the most powerful counter-spell in her entire deck just to make sure Robby could stay in the game. Marcus chugged the beer, his eyes narrowed and passing back and forth between Maddy and Robby. Robby was staring at Maddy, looking pleasantly surprised and a little triumphant. Maddy was looking at Marcus, her eyes an interesting mix of defiant and apologetic that Marcus had never seen anywhere before.

That was when Robby laid down _his _game changer – he reached up and set his hand on top of Maddy's. Maddy averted her eyes away from everyone, staring down at her knee, her cheeks and ears burning bright red, unable to control the big silly grin on her face. Marcus' breath hitched in his throat. His eyes flickered down to their hands and for a moment refused to move away. Then, slowly, he picked up all his cards from the battlefield and put his deck back together. "I forfeit," he said, soft and slow. "I need to get home."

Maddy and Ciji both reached a hand out to him (Maddy's _free_ hand of course, the one that wasn't curled up nice and snug inside Robby's sweaty palm) and said, "Marcus..." at the same moment. "Don't go," Ciji cooed sweetly.

Marcus just shook his head and headed for the door, holding a hand up as he went out, too pissed to really wave goodbye. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him. He felt stupid for writing that poem, stupid for thinking she'd feel the same way he did, stupid for letting his emotions get the best of him and ruin graduation night with his best friends. Stupid especially for deluding himself with some fantasy that she'd want to move to Connecticut and they'd be roomies instead of him staying with his dad... or even that she'd have asked him to stay, and of course he would have said yes.

He kicked rocks all the way down the gravel driveway and fought back tears. His house was three quarters of a mile away. He'd just go home and go to bed, and apologize to everyone in the morning. He'd rent movies and get pizza to make up for it. He'd get them all back on good terms, and in three months he'd be off to college in Connecticut, living with his dad, and his embarrassment would fade away just like his teenage friendships.

He heaved a heavy sigh. Halfway home, and already feeling better. A part of him wanted to just turn around and go back, apologize right now and start a new game and just deal with it. But then he pictured their hands, cradling, touching... Robby getting to find out how soft her skin was first hand, not just because their fingers accidentally brushed passing a card or a pencil.

This time he bent down, picked up a rock, and threw it. When it struck the pavement about 14 feet away, sparks and bits of rock scattered over the road.

He stopped walking and filled his pockets with rocks. Then, with each step he took, he threw another as hard as he could. It was therapeutic. He wasn't sure if he was imagining that he was throwing the rocks at Robby or somehow himself, or maybe the both of them. A blue pick-up truck was coming around the curve. Its occupants were about half-past-wasted and it was flying down the street with no headlights.

One of Marcus's rocks struck the hood loudly, a big one he'd thrown right before diving off the road to avoid being hit. The truck lurched to a stop. A tough-looking and very drunk girl got out. She smiled. Even though she looked younger than thirty, most of her front teeth were missing. "Looky here..."

Marcus didn't like the look on her face. It was a look he'd seen before on people of certain persuasions. A gruff voice piped out of the open driver's side door she'd come from, "What we got, Skunky?" Marcus closed his eyes. A woman named Skunky. Couldn't be a good sign. He looked over his left shoulder. A few yards of open field and then a little woods he could hide in. But he didn't want to sprint off just now and risk being lost in the woods or worse, chased into them and caught where no one could hear him scream.

Skunky's near-toothless grin grew wider, "A skinny little rock-throwin' ninja sumbitch!"

Now a third voice, deep and thick with lung disease, laughed from inside the truck. After a deep wheezing breath it asked, "A ninjer, huh? Well, I'll be damned..." The passenger door swung open and two big burly men got out and joined Skunky. One of them was clearly around her age – huge with a long greasy ponytail and countless jailhouse tattoos. The other was very old with a long, stained salt-and-pepper beard, and pretty damn big himself. Both the men were clutching cheap forty ounce beers and taking frequent gulps. All three of them were staggering and red-eyed.

The old man spoke up again, sounding a little frustrated, "Now, Skunky! That ain't no dadblame ninjer! Ninjers is all chinky and yeller." The old man paused and grinned at his companions. "Ya got'cher words mixed up, this here's a... one o' them, uhhhhhh..." He paused again and put a thoughtful finger into the yellowed mass of wiry mustache hanging next to his mouth.

The younger man guffawed and piped up, "Yeah, what is it, Ross?" He did not stop pawing at Skunky or gulping his beer to speak.

"Awww, hush up, Elroy! I'll figger it out!" The old guy tapped his finger and stared up at the sky. "Sounds a awful _lot_ like ninjer... Ninnnnnnnnnnnnn... Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnn... Niiiiiiiiiiiiii..." The thoughtful finger dropped abruptly from his cheek and his grin turned wicked. He looked over at the others. They heehawed with laughter. Ross turned his eyes back to Marcus, and were it not for the old man's smile Marcus would not have been sure whether he was laughing or coughing.

Marcus began to wonder if the woods had been such a bad idea after all. "I... I didn't mean to hit your truck. I'm sorry, sir, it was an accident."

The laughter around him dried up instantly. The couple looked vastly amused, but the old man's smile faded quickly to a scowl. He wheezed a few deep, labored breaths as his face slowly turned beet red. At last he raised an angry finger, pointing to Marcus, and shook it in rhythm with slow, drawn-out words, "Boy, do you know what we used to do on this here road when one o' your kind spoke outta place just a couple o' tragic decades ago?"

Marcus's heart sank into his guts for the second time tonight. All three of them were coming towards him, closing in, ready to spring if he tried to run.

The old man reached him first and grabbed the back of his neck, pinching up as much flesh as he could in surprisingly strong fingers to make a scruff. Marcus's mouth dropped open, but no sound escaped except a loud _whoosh_ of breath. The old man dragged him to the truck. The other two followed closely, ready to grab him if necessary. At the truck, the old man used his free hand to point out a tiny dent on the hood. "Ya see it?"

Marcus stared at the dent, afraid to speak or even nod. This was the wrong decision. Ross shook him. Marcus winced in pain. The old man slammed his cheek down onto the hood, the tip of his nose just inches from the dent. "Boy, I asked you a goddamned question! You speak when you're goddamn spoke to, ya understand?" he exploded, and lifted and slammed his cheek into the hood again for good measure.

Marcus could feel that his cheek was cut, and feel blood start trickling out of the wound and smudge between his face and their paint job. He didn't want to cooperate with these bigots. His heart burned to defy them, to fight them, to at least try to escape, to die if he had to, and with his dignity intact. His brain shushed his heart and opened his mouth. "Yes, sir."

"Ya dented Skunky's purty truck, ya coulda caused a wreck! Ya coulda got Skunky a DWI! Ya killed my buzz and I just ran outta goddamn beer! I wanna know what you mean to do about it, boy!"

Marcus swallowed hard. If losing Maddy hadn't made him cry, crazy racists sure weren't going to. He took a deep breath. He wanted his voice to come out strong, but it was weak and choked, "There's twenty dollars in my back pocket, that's all I-"

Ross wheezed out another cough-laugh and motioned for Elroy to reach into Marcus's back pocket. The younger man pulled out his wallet, extracted the twenty and handed it to Ross, tossed the wallet into the ditch. Ross grinned and loosened his grip on Marcus's neck just a little. "Well, that covers the beer. Now, what do ya reckon we oughta do about the damage to my daughter's property?"

Marcus was at a loss. He shrugged as well as he could and closed his eyes, waiting for his cheek to be slammed into the hood a third time. He heard Skunky giggle behind him. "Y'oughta mess him up, Daddy!" she offered. "Learn him somethin'!"

Ross stood for an agonizing moment, and Marcus spent that moment with his eyes squeezed shut and blood pooling between his face and the hood of Skunky's truck. At last, Ross sighed and threw Marcus hard to the ground. As he succumbed to the forces of gravity and Ross, Maddy's poem fell out of his pocket and fluttered to the ground. It landed face up with her name, Maddy Newland, visible in big letters. Marcus dived for it, which only seemed to pique Skunky's interest. She reached down and snatched it out of his reach, an eyebrow cocked and a scowl on her face.

"That's my baby cousin!" Skunky exclaimed as she read the name. "Did you steal this from her? Grab him, Elroy!" The younger man was quickly behind him, plucking him up into an arm-lock as Skunky opened the envelope, Ross watching intently over her shoulder. She gave the parchment paper a funny look as she pulled it out and unfolded it, and muttered, "Fancy," under her breath. She read for a moment, and her scowl deepened with every word. "It's a love letter, Daddy... this sumbitch wrote a love letter to Maddy!"

Ross grabbed the paper angrily from Skunky and walked up to Marcus, who was standing vulnerable in Elroy's arm-lock. Ross shoved the paper hard into his face and kicked his groin at the same time. Marcus yelped and would've sunk to his knees if Elroy hadn't been holding him up. Ross balled up the poem and stuffed it into Marcus's mouth. He held his chin for a moment, making sure he couldn't spit it out, and said, "Let that piece o' goddamn paper come out'cher mouth, boy, and I swear to Christ I'll replace it with your dick, ya fuckin' get me?" He didn't wait for Marcus to reply. He let his hand drop away from his chin and punched him hard in the jaw. Marcus kept his lips clenched, certain that Ross would make good on his threat if the poem fell out of his mouth. Another punch, directly to the chin. A bolt of pain shot up his face and down his neck. Ross thundered on, "Just the fact that you _thought _about puttin' your disgusting paws on one o' my kin..." He trailed off and kicked Marcus's thigh. Another kick displaced his kneecap. Marcus screamed and the poem almost fell out, but Ross shoved it back in quickly, putting his face only inches from Marcus's. "Ain't _no one_ in the Newland clan gonna touch the cock on one o' your kind," he breathed, his breath bathing Marcus's face in warmth and beer fumes. "Skunky... get Virdgil outta the toolbox."

Skunky squealed and giggled and dashed off to the back of her truck. Marcus could hear her digging around, opening things, moving them around. He didn't dare to guess what she'd come back with. He couldn't see well, his vision blurry from pain and his injuries. But when Skunky returned, he had no trouble making out the shape of the rope, already tied into a hangman's noose, dangling from her un-dainty hand. His guts turned to jelly and his muscles stopped working at all, except his jaw, still clenched tight to hold the poem inside. It was involuntary. He couldn't even wonder how he was still doing it, nor could he think of anything else as he watched Skunky throw the rope over a low-hanging branch on a tree just next to the road while he dangled in Elroy's grasp.

Ross turned on Skunky's hazard lights and then he and Elroy watched for cars. A pair of headlights appeared once and they'd dived off the road, Elroy holding tightly to Marcus as they all crouched in the trees. The car didn't slow down to see if anyone was in the truck or in need of assistance. As soon as the tail lights disappeared around the curve, they came back out and got back to work.

Marcus struggled against Elroy's hold as they began to walk him towards the rope, until Skunky and Ross both grabbed an arm. None of them said anything. Elroy lifted him up with seemingly no effort at all, and Skunky slipped the loop over his head and tightened it as Ross looked on, stoic, his eyes full of hate. When Elroy dropped him, the rope didn't break his neck. The three stood and watched for the two minutes it took him to suffocate. His mouth flew open as he fought to breathe, and the poem hit the ground under his feet, crumpled into a ruined ball. When at last he was still, Skunky stuffed it back into his mouth and giggled, then skipped back towards her truck with the two men following closely behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

Asher waddled across the hospital parking lot, her arm looped through Jason's and much of her weight leaned into him. There was still a month left in her pregnancy, but she looked more like she might pop at any moment. Her left arm was wrapped under her belly, trying to hold it up and take some of the strain off her lower back, but she wasn't sure it was helping enough to justify the shaking and tired muscles in her arm. Her long black ponytail swung dramatically behind her with each step she took, and Jason fought to keep his balance between her swaying strides and hard leaning. Both of them were looking up at the roof of the hospital. It was still pitch dark out, but it wouldn't be for long. They were watching the MedFlyt helicopter's very loud take-off. They craned their necks as they watched it disappear over the horizon, both lucky they didn't trip and fall.

Once the helicopter was out of sight, they both put their eyes back in front of them. It looked like things were starting to get busy. Before they crossed the next twelve feet, four EMT's had rushed out and run at full speed towards the ambulance bay around the corner of the building at the ER entrance. Two doctors were standing just outside the automatic doors the EMT's had used. Their raised voices were just loud enough to reach Asher's ears, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying for some time. Even fifteen feet was a slow trek for her these days. Both of them were gesturing. One, a pretentious looking SOB in Asher's opinion, with slicked-back hair and a too-orange spray tan, was gesturing hard enough to fling little droplets out of his Starbuck's cup. The other, an older and more distinguished looking gent, was zig-zagging ribbons of cigarette smoke from his yellowed fingers as he spoke.

As Asher and Jason drew nearer to the doors, they were able to make out a bit of the conversation. Doctor Orange impatiently tapped his foot and sipped at his coffee as the older doctor said, "You realize, Will, that that's absolutely ridiculous. We can't just go sending patients into quarrantine at the drop of a hat! We'd start a panic! And what would we tell them? That we don't know why? Sedate them, keep contact to a minimum, and check in with me in a couple of hours. We'll have this whole mess resolved by then, and-"

Asher jumped slightly and pressed closer to Jason when the younger doctor threw down his cup and showered the concrete with a thick, black liquid that smelled far too strongly of espresso. The older doctor stepped back a bit, but the hems of his pants were already splattered. Dr. Orange shouted, "Dr. Bledsoe, I don't think you've been listening to me! I told you, they were already -"

Now he was cut off by the elder doctor, who shoved his cigarette between his lips and put both hands on his companion's shoulders. "Do you need some personal time, Will? The stress gets to be too much for all of us at some time or another. Maybe a paid leave, or - ." Asher was stricken by how much less friendly his body language was than his tone of voice and words. Dr. Orange took in a deep breath and turned abruptly, making the old guy's hands drop back to his own sides as he walked back through the doors. Jason and Asher walked in a few steps behind him. The white-haired doctor did not follow, but stared after him, puffing heavily on what was left of his cigarette.

Jason and Asher exchanged a look but said nothing as they approached the open doors. The smell of hospital was the first thing to strike Asher. The hustle and bustle all around her was the second. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, and seemingly just about everyone else who worked there was up and about carrying stacks of charts or pushing carts or loading syringes with medication as they hurried along. No one wearing scrubs would look at them. They found the check-in desk deserted. Every line was blinking on the ringing phone. Asher leaned on the counter and looked up at Jason. He shrugged. Things had been quiet between them lately. Asher knew her silence was nothing more than how tired she'd been the past couple of months. She suspected Jason was quiet for different reasons, but had no intention of bringing it up until the baby was born and she was feeling like herself again. They both sighed, and each managed a little smile for the other. "Just sign the sheet," he suggested. "You need to be sitting down, resting." Asher nodded and signed the sheet. She chose a seat towards the back, thinking she'd be damned if she didn't get to put her feet up while she waited.

She sat, thumbing through a random magazine from the table next to her, trying to think of something to say that might begin a conversation with Jason. She wasn't forced to sit and wrack her brain for long. Dawn was breaking outside, and the pale blue light was bathing everything, lending it all a surreal dayglow quality. Not far in the distance, a short and very thin woman was running towards the hospital and screaming at the top of her lungs. Long golden blond hair flew behind her in glistening curls. She looked too dainty for the oversized cargo pants and checked flannel shirt she was wearing. At last Asher had something to say to Jason, "What the hell?"

He looked up, followed her gaze outside, and let his eyes settle on the quickly approaching woman. She skidded to a stop inside and looked around, her eyes wide and her hair disheveled. At last she spotted someone wearing scrubs, a nurse carrying a basket with little glass tubes and syringes who was rushing towards the exam rooms behind the desk. The little blonde ran to the nurse, grabbed her shoulders and screamed, "Help! You have to help! You have to shut those doors and you have to... to... you have to _lock_ them if you can!"

The nurse, startled, jumped back out of the blonde's grasp and stared at her for a few seconds. The woman didn't have the patience to wait for a response. She piped up again, "You have to _close_ those _doors! _Are you listening to me? They're coming! They're coming right now!"

The nurse took a deep breath and tried her best to force a patient smile. "Ma'am, you'll have to sit down and wait like everyone else." The blond woman's eyes went even wider and wilder.

"Do you hear what I am telling you?" She paused and looked over her shoulder, out the doors she'd come through. Jason and Asher looked, too. Still in the distance, walking at what looked like a relaxed pace, were two large men. One of them seemed to have a severe limp. Asher looked at Jason, who only shrugged again. The little woman kept going, "Don't you fucking see them? They're coming!"

The nurse's eyes flickered to the two men and back down to the woman. "They were chasing you?"

The blonde heaved a long sigh that appeared to deflate her upper body. She stared up at the nurse, her shoulders hunched and drawn inward. "Yeah... they're chasing me," she answered in a small, defeated voice. She straightened herself and turned to face the doors, her eyes fixed on her pursuers. "Everybody's gone damn crazy. I saw 'em hunkered down over some poor drunk on the corner by your parking lot and when I screamed they... they got up and started to follow me. You gotta shut those doors," she repeated with considerably less conviction. She turned back to the nurse, whose eyes were squinted and trained on the two men. The blonde piped up once more, "That isn't red Kool-Aid on their lips, either."

"I'll page security." The nurse dashed off to the check-in desk and picked up the PA mic. "Security to outpatient check-in immediately, please. Security to outpatient check-in." She set it down and fiddled with something behind the desk that Asher and Jason couldn't see. Then she spared a final look for the blond woman before hurrying back to her original purpose. The woman looked around helplessly, then looked back at the door. The two men were much closer now. An EMT ran past again and one of them turned and followed her. The other didn't seem to notice, and kept limping right for the door.

Less than half a minute later, two security guards and a police officer rushed in from the hallway that connected the emergency room to the outpatient check-in. The cop was standing a few feet behind them as though he'd sent them onto the front lines of battle himself. The little blonde ran up to them and pointed to the lumbering man who was just feet from the doors. Asher and Jason turned to look again, as well, and this time it was Asher who sat in total silence as Jason gasped out loud. The limp wasn't just a limp - it was the result of half his femur sticking out through a tear in his blood-stained pants. The broken leg stood a full three inches shorter than its counterpart. With each step the man nearly fell over, the flesh seemed to sink a little lower around the bone, and Asher was sure she could hear a faint, wet sucking sound. His gait would have been comical were she not so horrified by his condition. He said nothing, no screams or cries of pain, and Asher found it especially frightening that his face was twisted not in tormentuous pain but rather it was somewhere between desperate and utterly blank. He was pale, and blood was beginning to dry all over the lower half of his face. Something that resembled raw meat dangled between his teeth.

The officer and security guards stood stunned for a moment, all of them staring down at the man's leg. At last one of the guards called out, "Sir, stop where you are," just as the other yelled out for a doctor. The limping man looked, his nearly lifeless eyes shifting from the blonde to the three men standing in front of him. He reached a slow hand up towards the guard who'd spoken and began to limp towards him. The little blonde, unable to believe her good luck, scurried off down the hall. The guard spoke up again, "Sir, stop now!" The man kept coming. The guards and officer took a few slow steps backward to put some more distance between themselves and the limping man.

The officer drew his tazer gun and shouted, "Stop walking and hit the floor!" When the limping man only kept drawing nearer, he fired the tazer. The barbs shot out, wire trailing behind them, and hooked squarely into the limper's chest. Buzzing peppered with loud clicks filled the air. Jason buried his face in Asher's shoulder, and she couldn't help rolling her eyes. She'd have liked to be the one burying her face in _his _chest, feeling a protective arm around her, knowing he'd look out for her. Now she supposed she was supposed to do the comforting, pregnant as she was, and all the protecting, too. She expected the man with the broken leg to hit the ground, but he didn't. His muscles twitched a bit, but not enough to do more than slow him down. The officer's jaw dropped. He threw the tazer to the ground and drew his pistol. "This is your last warning, sir!" Asher covered her ears, her eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. The officer fired his weapon. The shot rang out loudly and echoed on the stark walls and cold floors.

For a few seconds, there was quiet except for the echo of the gunshot. Asher forced her eyes open. The man had been pushed back a few steps by the force of the shot. She could see the exit wound blown through the back of his shirt. Judging from it's location, the bullet had to have gone straight through his heart, but she supposed it couldn't have, because he just kept moving towards them. Jason looked up at last, and was stunned. The officer kept his weapon trained on the man as he pressed the button on his radio. "This is unit 28, I'm at St. Vincent hospital. I fired on an aggressor, I need back-up. This guy's on something, he is unresponsive to bullets! I need back-up!"

A voice piped up in response, tinny and shrouded in static. The officer seemed to ignore it. The man was nearly in arm's length of the security guard who'd been the first to speak. Asher felt her curiosity melt away. She put a hand on Jason's thigh to help herself up. "We need to get out of here," she said, hoping she sounded as urgent as she felt. Jason sat in shocked silence. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Asher looked back at the limping man and the guards just as the man managed to get a hand around the guard's shoulder and pull him close. He opened his mouth wide and leaned down. Asher was sure he'd been about to take a bite out of the guard's shoulder before another shot rang out. This one went through the limper's forehead, just above his left eye. He crumpled to the ground.

Asher instinctively reached out for Jason's hand, and he gave it to her. She pulled, tried to coax him up out of the chair. "I want to get out of here, Jason, let's go see Mo and Shadow, make sure theu're okay..." At last Jason got to his feet. She started to pull him towards the doors they'd come in through, but what she saw there stopped her short.

The EMT that the limping man's companion had gone after was crawling inside, her arm bleeding from two places and another huge, bloody wound on her back. She kept looking behind her as she scrambled on all-fours. Her pursuer was not far behind. The EMT's clothes slipped and slid on the stone floor, the blood all over her hands not making things any easier. She couldn't seem to stand up, didn't even seem interested in standing up. Her face clearly expressed the one thing on her mind - getting the hell away.

Asher had the good sense to stop herself from shouting a frustrated, "FUCK!" Instead she quietly turned around, keeping to the back wall away from the trouble, and led Jason towards the hallway. It was simple enough sneaking behind the guards and officer, who still hadn't moved, and she felt sure that with all the people between them the madman wouldn't notice or be interested in following them. Jason seemed to have no opinion on which direction to take, and allowed her to pull him like a dog on a leash. She could see he'd gone pale, his eyes were wide, and his lips drawn thin and tight. _He's terrified, _she thought to herself, _and useless._ Her brain wasn't interested in much outside the basics right now. Instinct took over before she had a chance to _feel_ anything about her observation. She stopped at the elevator and pressed the down arrow. Again. Again. Again. 45 seconds passed. Three new gunshots exploded from outpatient waiting, and she simply turned and headed for the stairwell instead. She shut the door behind them and checked for a way to lock it, but didn't see one. She turned to Jason. When she took her hand away, he tried to grab for it and whined a little through his nose. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Listen to me, Jason... I am eight months pregnant. I cannot drag a grown man down the stairs. You have to walk for yourself... You have to at least try a little! Okay?" She held her breath and watched his face, waiting to see if her words would sink in. After a few seconds, nothing. She shook him. "Jason, goddammit, you _have _to get it _together_! Something is seriously wrong and we have to get back to the Beetle." She watched. At last his eyes narrowed back to a reasonably normal size and he blinked and opened his mouth.

"How do we get there, Ash?"

"We're going down to the basement. Employee parking is down there and the outlet is right near where we're parked. The elevator was taking too long... we have to go now." She started down the stairs, looking up over her shoulder to make sure he followed. He didn't. He just stood there with a fresh dumbfounded gawk.

With a deep breath she went back up the three steps she'd descended and grabbed his hand. "Come on, then."

She dragged him down the first flight and around the corner. There she stopped, and had to force her hand out of his to avoid being knocked down the stairs when he was unable to do so himself. It as only a few seoncds before he scrambled back up behind her, as though he intended to use her for a shield if it proved necessary. A woman in a white labcoat and green surgical scrubs was lying unconscious on the floor. A yellow-haired gentlemen, similarly attired, was crouched over her. When he saw the two of them, he reached up, and revealed to bloody stumps where his middle and forefingers should have been. "Help, please..." he choked out. "I've killed her... I've killed Andrea... Oh, God, I had to..."

Asher didn't think. She said nothing. She pressed herself against the wall, keeping a few feet between herself and the surgeons. She kept her eyes trained on him, told him without words that she would fight if he came too close. He seemed to understand. His eyes fell down to her swollen abdomen and something about that seemed to resonate with him. And for just a split second she felt something - a desperate wish that the same were true of her boyfriend. He held up his other hand now, in submission, and leaned away from them, not bothering to stand up. She led Jason down and through the basement door, very quietly.

There didn't seem to be much going on. She slid along with her back to the wall, heading towards the sunlight in the not-too-far distance. Fifty feet to their left, someone screamed. Two cars hit each other, and the bending metal sang through the garage. _Yeah, make some noise, morons. _ She picked up her pace, feeling a little more confident. They practically skipped up the exit ramp and out into the sunlight. A few people were hurrying along the sidewalk, talking in hushed, frightened tones. _Fine._ She could hear Jason taking in deep breaths behind her, sucking in the fresh air as though they'd just come out of a sewage treatment facility instead of a hospital. _Good._ Across the street, the Beetle sparkled and shimmered, royal blue with silver flakes, the most welcome sight she'd ever seen. She looked both ways at the edge of the street like a child, clutching Jason's hand. "Let's go," she whispered, and they dashed across and straight to the car. Jason even had the presence of mind to unlock her door the moment he slid into the driver's seat. He looked much more himself. "Now where?" he asked.

"SHH! Did you hear it?"

"What?"

"A bike... it's Mo and Shadow, it is has to be..."

Just then, Jason heard it too. They turned towards the sound, and their hearts sank. They were on the other side of the parking lot, heading for the entrance. Jason hit the horn, and Asher looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but it didn't matter because they didn't hear it, anyway. Asher saw Mo raise up a bat and club someone's skull in from the back of Shadow's bike. Then she saw them hop off the bike and disappear inside. This time, Asher did scream, "FUCK!" She pointed to the entrance, but Jason was already driving that way. "We're going to have to go back inside..." she sighed. Jason's face started to go green again. He broke a sweat right before her eyes just from trying to pay attention to his driving. She screamed again, "FUCK!" A deep breath. He was getting close to the entrance now. She popped open his console. Papers and gum and an unidentified pill that she handed to him and he dry-swallowed immediately. She was fairly sure it was Vicodin or something similar, and any state of mind but his current one would almost surely be an improvement. She reached under the seat and found a tire repair kit still in its package. And she didn't know what the fuck it was called, or what the fuck it's original use was, but it was a long sharp needle on a handle that would fit perfectly into her dainty fist, and she intended to perform some lobotomies with it today, if she had to. She turned sharply to Jason as he rolled to a stop.

"Fine. _I'll_ go in. They can't have gotten far, anyway, and I'll need you to be ready to drive. Don't fucking go anywhere, or so help me Kali-Mata's rabid ghost the consequences will be fucking dire." She stepped out of the car and softly shut the door. She heard Mo's bat thud against another skull from somewhere not far inside. It seemed the more immediate threats had been dispersed. Just inside, she saw the two guards dead on the ground, the police officer nowhere in sight. She didn't dare call out to Mo. Her eyes caught movement in their periphery. She looked to her left just in time to see the door behind the reception desk closing slowly and quietly. It had to be them.


	5. Chapter 5

Skunky was still all giggles as she started up her truck and pulled back onto the road. Elroy was rock-hard next to her, squeezed in between Skunky and Ross like a hulking dick-sandwich. The novelty was in no way lost on Elroy, of being the only person in the truck capable of getting a hard-on, and Ross's gigantic ass beside him did not concern him one bit. _Let the old coot say somethin'... _he thought to himself, _and he'll wind up just like that fuckin' rapist nigger we strung up in the tree not 20 minutes ago. _

Skunky rolled down the window and let out a howl. There was nothing like a southern summer night in her book. The way the thin ribbon of silvery road cut through trees, tall and plentiful on either side, was comforting to her. And she loved the way the balmy night air felt cool when it was passing through her truck window. Summer days were hot and long and could drain the life out of anybody, but summer nights were _alive, _and she felt that life truly was a party as she chugged the rest of her beer and tossed it into the tall roadside grass. Ross passed cigarettes to Skunky and Elroy. She gave Ross a nod and an enthusiastic, "Thank ya, Daddy!"

Elroy nodded his own appreciation quietly. He hated the old man's sloppily rolled pipe-tobacco cigarettes. They were too juicy and too strong and they tasted and smelled like a bucket of fresh-picked assholes. He needed a fuckin' cigarette in a big way and had a full, unopened pack of Grim Reapers in his back pocket, but he wasn't going to pull them out in front of Ross and end up giving half of them away even if it meant he'd be buried with them. Skunky didn't seem to mind too much, but he hated to see his woman go without a beer. Also, he _hated _to do the world such a big, costly favor and not get a celebratory piece off ass immediately after.

Although Elroy didn't realize it, he was seething quite visibly. Ross nudged him with his elbow. "S'amatter, Sasquatch?"

Ross heaved a big sigh and said in a gruff voice, "Baby, get us to Denham and let's stop off at our spot. Damn beer's in the bed, can't get to it."

Skunky shouted, "Sure thing!" Partially because of the radio being up and the windows being down, but also because she was bubbling over with excitement. She was smiling, her eyes electric and a little wild. Usually, running out of beer spoiled her good moods, but tonight it was early and they'd already had a better night than usual, even if Ross was along for the ride. Hell, he was the reason for this particular ride, anyway.

The old man nudged him again, annoyed that Elroy hadn't responded to him directly. "Did'ja hear me there, son? I asked you a question."

Elroy sighed again and shut his eyes. Whether Ross was the reason for this particular party or not, Elroy wished like hell he wasn't there. Regardless of Ross's presence, Elroy had no intention of not bending Skunky over the oak stump at their favorite little swimming hole in Denham. He didn't give a fuck if her daddy, grandparents, and the whole damn town showed up for it, either. _Matter of fact, _he thought to himself, _if she don't take her hand off my damn leg here in a minute I'munna cum my pants. _Of course, he didn't want to spoil the party, and there was a reason they were driving Ross around tonight, after all. He smiled and gave Ross a good-natured jab back. "Just anxious to see the fruits of this here excursion," he replied, sounding jolly. Ross grinned and nodded and patted his pocket.

Skunky's hand continued to play hell on Elroy's thigh until the moment they pulled into their hidden parking spot by the swimming hole. Ever the gentleman, Elroy did not cum his pants, neither did he forget to grab Skunky (and himself, and even Ross) a fresh beer. The three of them gathered around the hood of the truck, all of them stretching a bit as Ross handed out more cigarettes. The moonlight was strong and the sky blissfully cloudless, so they didn't have to worry about attracting attention with headlights or flashlights. She felt like she imagined she might have felt on her prom night, had she made it that far into her education. She felt young and vital and ready for anything, especially if it was attached to Elroy.

Ross reached into his pocket and produced a button bag almost stuffed full of white powder and little crystal shards. It didn't look like the meth the normally picked up from Ross's contact, but maybe this was something different. "Did Red try him a new recipe?" Skunky asked.

Ross shrugged. "He said it was some sort o'... new shit or some goddamn thing. Shit must be purty good. He was so fucked up he dumped out a goddamn half an ounce of the shit right out on the hood o' your truck and separated it up before he gave me mine. Fucker didn't even get it all up off there. Like he ain't never done a damn deal before or somethin', and I to-" Ross was cut off by his own diseased lungs. He pounded his fist on the hood of the truck as hacking coughs took temporary control.

That had been all the explanation Skunky needed, anyway. She pressed herself against Elroy and nibbled at his neck while they waited for Ross to get done hacking and start doing some dope. Over a minute and a half later, it was finally under-way. Unfortunately, his coughing fit had taken his good mood down a notch or two, and besides that he didn't care to see that big ape walking around with a tent in his britches and his paws all over Skunky. While he'd been coughing it had occurred to him that they were waiting for a line or a bowl so they could run off into the trees for a quicky and leave him with nothing to do but stand around and overhear his own baby girl getting plowed by a Sasquatch. Damned if he wouldn't do most of his dope up in the truck with the radio goin'. He cut out a skinny little line for Elroy, right on the hood of the truck. He fixed up a slightly bigger one for Skunky, and then laid himself out a rail of an appetizer before tucking the baggy safely back into his pocket. He pulled out a wrinkled and blood stained dollar that was tucked away in the back of his wallet and rolled it up. "Ladies first," he offered, handing the bill to Ross.

Ross rolled his eyes and heaved an annoyed sigh, but took the dollar anyway and did his line up, then passed it to Skunky, who did her own line and passed it on to Ross. Within seconds her heart rate sped up and she jumped into Elroy's arms and wrapped her legs tight around his hips. With a cheerful grunt he grabbed on and walked her off into the woods without a word to spare for Ross.

Ross climbed into the truck. He didn't want to hear them fucking, but when he really stopped to think about it he didn't want to suffocate with the windows up or get the cops called with the radio on. He dug around in the glove compartment until he found Skunky's meth pipe. She kept it wrapped in paper towels inside some fancy-pants bag she'd gotten a bottle of liquor in for Christmas. Sometimes he really couldn't believe he'd raised such a responsible girl. Still, he never had been able to get his head around her wanting Elroy. Ross loaded the bowl and finished it off. And again. And again. And again. He'd been speeding his balls off since the hood of the truck. The speed calmed his spasming lungs, and he looked forward to at least one night of relative relief. He had no idea how right he was.

He was relieved to find he couldn't really hear them. Now and again a bit of voice or a snapping branch, or the heavy rustle of dry leaves beneath two very active bodies. He just couldn't stand it. He knew that she was the kind of girl that did who and what she wanted, but he wished like hell he'd never introduced her to Elroy.

Thinking about it wasn't doing much for his buzz. He loaded another bowl as he tried to push his daughter's poor taste in men out of his mind. He took a long, deep suck off the little glass tube and shut his eyes. His heart sped up. Then he felt the slightest twinge of pain in his throat and arms, followed by a tightness that clasped slowly and firmly around his chest. _Heart attack_, he thought immediately. He tried to shout, but the tight grip on his chest wouldn't allow it. He tried to pound his fist on the door, but his arm muscles were seized tight and he he couldn't make a sound.

A few yards into the trees, Elroy and Skunky were just re-robing themselves. Elroy was pretty well ready for round 2, but Skunky didn't feel right making her Daddy wait for them any longer. "Besides," she tried to soothe her sulking man, "another line'll have us good and revved up by the time we get some time alone tonight.

Elroy managed a grin for his Skunky. He'd got his rocks off, and as far as he knew she had, too, and that would do for now. Skunky hummed a little tune as she fastened her belt and pulled her boots back on. The insects were in full-blown concert. All-in-all, the night was going well. He walked up to Skunky and helped her up off the stump she'd been sitting on to dress. She smiled and gave him a big, smacking kiss before they started back for Skunky's truck.

The bugs weren't quite as loud when they stepped out of the woods and into the clearing around the swimming hole. All was quiet. Skunky raised an eyebrow when she saw Ross was sitting in the driver's seat. "Old fucker better not think he's fixin' to drive my truck," she muttered to Elroy as they approached. Ross's arm rested on the open window. "You 'wake, Daddy?" she called out. He didn't move or respond.

The couple approached Skunky's truck slowly. She didn't realize she was squeezing tightly to Elroy's arm, nor did she attribute her heart rate to anything more than drugs, but whether Skunky knew it or not, she was scared. "Ain't no way he fell asleep on that shit," Elroy mused.

At the truck, Skunky opened her mouth to scream, but Ross clapped a hand tightly over her mouth and pulled her close against him. He wrapped his other arm tightly around her and kept holding her mouth. She threw back her head and stared up at him, her eyes wide. He stood and whispered for her to "breathe" until finally he knew she wasn't going to scream. In a small, shaky voice that was very unlike the usual Skunky, she said simply, "Daddy..." She felt his wrists for a pulse and found nothing. No breath escaped his nose or mouth. "Aw, fuck, Daddy..." she moaned, and for once Elroy didn't enjoy the sound of that. "Whatta we do, baby?"

Elroy sighed. "We'll drop him off at one of the bus stops in Woodruff. He'll look like he's sleepin' on the bench and a cop'll come up and they'll take care of it."

Skunky frowned, her eyes welled up with tears, and Elroy could do nothing but grab her and hold her close. In four years, he'd never once known Skunky to cry for any reason at all. "We can't leave him on a bench like that, Elroy..." she said, still not sounding anywhere near to being herself. "We just can't, we can't, we can't, we-"

"Shhhh!" Elroy held her tight and smoothed her hair with his hand. "You know we can't go to the hospital, baby, you _know_ we can't do that... We'll cover him up with my old coat that's still sittin' in your truck. We'll say goodbye – quickly, baby – and we'll go and they'll have him picked up and tended to in no time. Nobody'll know we was even with him."

Skunky crumpled in his arms and heaved silent sobs into his beer gut. Elroy wanted to comfort her. He didn't want to let go until she was ready. But he was starting to get nervous. It wasn't too wise for the two of them with their handful of warrants each to sit around in a semi-public location with a dead man in their truck. He gave Skunky a gentle shake and pulled her up straight. "We can't just stand around here, baby, we need to get to Woodruff and get him outta your truck."

It was at this moment that Skunky said two words Elroy never thought he'd hear his woman say - "You drive." His jaw dropped and for a moment he wasn't sure how to proceed. The keys were in the ignition. She was just standing there. He'd never seen Skunky look vulnerable before, and couldn't imagine that before this very moment she ever had. She seemed somehow smaller, and fragile. Elroy went to her and put a gigantic arm around her. He helped her to the truck, one shaky little step at a time, and lifted her into the passenger's seat. He wasn't sure the truck even had seat belts, so he checked, and found that it did. He buckled her in and kissed the top of her head.

When he started the engine, the radio blared on, and for the first time ever, Elroy turned it off. He almost couldn't stand it, seeing her that way.

Woodruff was barely big enough to be considered a city. Trailers and houses sprawled on its outskirts, and lead up to a downtown that was slowly becoming worthy of the title. What had been a tiny sanitarium 103 years ago was now a gigantic hospital that provided most of the city's jobs. It was nestled in the long curve of the Red River, and the rest of town seemed to have sprung out from it. The way Elroy saw it, somebody would find Ross at the bus stop, and he'd be brought to the hospital just like anybody else that died. They'd check his license and someone would come to the house or call and tell them Ross was dead. And they'd plan the funeral, just like regular people who didn't have warrants and need to avoid being grilled and ID-ed by the police. Ross would've understood. He'd have done the same, even. Elroy knew it, and he knew that Skunky knew it, too. They didn't have a choice.

They left him there on the park bench and went back to the swimming hole. Skunky cried in Elroy's arms for exactly seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds. It was the first time he'd ever used his watch outside of work. Ross took a hearty bite or so out of the first two people who approached him on the bench, and it wasn't long before he was strapped firmly to a gurney and transported to the hospital, where he bit the two ER nurses who brought him in and several other patients before finally being locked in an exam room by two desperately frightened secretaries.

About thirty miles away from where Elroy was comforting his woman, the four remaining friends wrapped up their game of SG, and paired off to bed. The next morning, they piled into Ciji's car to head for IHOP. On the way there, Robby saw frantic movement just inside the trees and called out to his friends, "There's someone... in the woods..." His voiced trailed off to below a whisper. He'd realized too late that he _really_ hadn't wanted to say it out loud, and he _definitely_ didn't want to go back and check it out. Something had been very, very _wrong_ about what he'd seen. It had only been a glimpse, but a glimpse of what appeared to be a human bouncing and flailing with its feet at a consistent three feet off the ground. The form of a human, jerking and writing only to stay in one spot, suspended in air. And something else... something about it's clothes...

He couldn't hide the sigh of relief when Wynn said casually, "Probably just a hunter or somethin'," and Ciji didn't hit the brakes. They went to IHOP, had breakfast, talked, and tried to all pretend that Marcus wasn't missing from the group because he was angry, but because he was sick or out of town and everything was going to be just fine with the five of them.

They might have all gone back home after that, gotten cleaned up and dressed and started on the next game of SG, except that Robby hadn't been able to help fixing his eyes on the very same spot on the way back. This time, Maddy had followed his gaze and seen it, too. She gave him a questioning look, needing confirmation that she wasn't imagining things. "What the hell is that?" she asked out loud.

Ciji raised an eyebrow and nodded to Wynn when he cast a curious glance in her direction. "Should we stop and check it out?"

She was already pulling over when the others chorused a yes. The four of them got out of the car and immediately could hear the ruckus whatever they'd seen was making. They tried to free their friend immediately, and he thanked them all by biting them. He got all of them but Ciji at least once. Maddy did not make it back to Ciji's car with them. Even Robby hadn't even noticed she wasn't with them until they were almost back to Wynn's house. They all teared up when they realized it, and Ciji sobbed outright as she drove down their long stretch of road, but she did not apply the brakes, and not one of them suggested that she should.


	6. Chapter 6

Mo pressed her back instinctively to Shadow's, her bat poised high and ready to crash down on any and all skulls necessary. Neither of them was really aware of their own actions. They hadn't planned to walk in back-to-back, they'd simply fallen into it. They couldn't see the alertness of their eyes as they flashed about their surroundings, or the grace and precision that had all but overtaken their movements. Their only focus was the things they were looking for – friends and danger.

The automatic doors slid open for them. Mo noted four dead guys sprawled across the floor. The waiting area chairs were empty. Papers, manilla folders, receipts, and various personal items littered the floor. No one was behind the desk or walking around. Just four dead men, two of them obviously security guards, lying there dead just near the desk. A woman's purse lay on its side in a chair and a half-smile crept across Mo's face when she saw it - the way it drooped across the seat, it's top gaping open and its contents spilled out beneath it - it appeared to have thrown up and then fainted with terror... and understandably so. The fluorescent lights hummed above their heads. Someone had either dropped each and every phone on the desk or had the presence of mind to take them all of their hooks. Mo shuddered when she imagined the sort of attention a cacophony of ringing telephones echoing through outpatient waiting would attract.

And maybe not every body in the pile on the floor was a dead one. Mo jumped a little when she saw the two security guards begin to stir. Her breath hitched in her throat, just soon enough to stop her from calling out to them, offering help. Shadow turned and gave her a sharp look, but relaxed quickly when she didn't speak up. He kissed the top of her head and nodded towards the doors behind them - _Watch._ She turned herself towards the sliding doors to make sure no one snuck up behind them while Shadow borrowed her bat and took care of the guards. They weren't weak and half-dead for months already like her father had been, nor did Shadow have the momentum of his bike to back up his swing. Mo heard him bring the bat down three times – two _thwacks_ followed by a _splat_ – before the first guard was down for good. The second time around, he didn't have to guess at how hard he'd need to swing, and Mo was grateful that it only took him one hit. She listened to what she could only assume was him looting the corpses for weapons.

Back together, he placed the bat into her waiting hand and flashed her a grin and a look at his newly obtained baton. They crept toward the door, the one they'd watched close, in relative peace. Just outside, Shadow placed his hand on the handle and turned to look at Mo. He held up one finger, then two, then three, and with that he pulled the door open fast and she swung around to face it with her bat poised as he pressed his back to hers and watched the waiting area. No one was waiting on the other side, friendly or otherwise. Just a long, harshly lit hallway of exam rooms and labs and x-ray rooms. Mo let her breath out long and slow as she inched forward to let Shadow shut the door behind them.

"I love you," she whispered as softly as she could.

Shadow gave a little laugh and answered just as softly, "I love you, too."

She took in another deep breath and held it as she peered through the tiny rectangle of window on the first exam room's door. There was no one inside. The next one contained a nurse, a woman in a blue denim dress, and a child with a wound on his arm. All of them were pale and terrified. The nurse was shakily dressing the boy's wound and waving his hand at the mother to be quiet and stay down, hunched near the floor with them. A few other rooms held cowering doctors and nurses and various staff and patients. All the doors were closed and locked, and the few people that did notice them scurried to hide behind exam tables and pieces of eqipment. Some of them held bandages to bloody wounds. One room contained only a dead girl, no older than sixteen, and beautiful.

Mo lingered at her window. She was dressed in good jeans and a thin cotton peasant blouse, and her auburn hair was only slightly darker than Mo's. She had the tight stringy waves that Mo would have killed for. Her side had been bleeding, and her blood had dyed the bottom of her ivory blouse bright red. Mo's heart sank for her. All alone, lying there dead and no one at her side. She had almost the same splatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but the dead girl's stood out more because she was turning blue. Mo wondered if the girl was going to turn, to get up again and stare mindlessly through the window, working her jaw anytime she saw another person come by. She wondered if the girl would be able to open the door if she did come back, and whether they should just dispatch her now before it became an issue.

As if on cue, she felt Shadow's warm breath on her neck and he whispered, "You don't want to see it," as though he'd been reading her mind.

After seven exam rooms and two imaging areas, Mo began to worry. Maybe it hadn't been Asher and Jason at all. The thrill of sneaking up to the tiny windows and peeking through was beginning to wear off. She stopped and turned her face toward Shadow. He nodded forward. They continued on. The twelth window yielded no results, either. There were only four doors left and the hallway ended in an emergency fire exit.

She sighed audibly, and felt the bump of Shadow's ponytail against the top of her head as he leaned his head back onto hers. He reached a hand behind himself and squeezed the back of her thigh. She enjoyed his hand, so firm and warm and just _there_, more than she was sure could be considered appropriate under the circumstances. The thought of occupying one of the empty exam rooms for a while, just forgetting the world and being with him, crossed her mind briefly, and she smiled a little as she wondered what he'd say if she suggested it. She even wondered if she was really considering it, and felt a chill and a rush of adrenaline that tingled interesting locations on her anatomy. Her breath hitched, and it was a sound Shadow knew well. He turned to face her, wide eyed, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips... plump, pouty lips that she'd always found utterly irresistable.

"Really? _Now?_" his whisper clearly conveying his surprise.

She turned her head sharply, grinning. She wanted to say something witty or sexy, but nothing would come.

And then there was a scream, last door on the right.

They crept up, slowly, confused by the dead silence that followed the scream. It had been a woman, Mo felt sure. They stopped at the edge of the doorway, and Mo hunched down low and peeked in, careful and quiet. But her hair gave her away. The cop in the room holding three people at gun point caught the barest flash of coppery red against the dull gray-white background of the stark hospital wall.

Enraged, he flung the door open, gun focused on Mo's forehead, eyes fixed on Shadow from the moment he stepped out of the room. He was a hulk, fully blocking the doorway. Mo couldn't allow herself to look at the gun in his hand. She feared she would crumble to the ground and shriek like a child and get them both shot. Instead, she looked past him, into the exam room. She saw three pairs of feet and one big hairy hand. Four people seemed to be lined up against the wall behind him, sitting on the ground, and one of those pairs of shoes belonged to Asher.

"Try anything and I shoot her where she stands," he said to Shadow. "I'm the boss in here, now throw your shit down and get the fuck in there!"

Neither of them hesitated to drop their weapons. Once in the exam room, the cop closed and locked the door and gestured with the pistol in his hand towards the floor. Asher's eyes fixed on Mo and they both blinked, not wanting to risk any more obvious an acknowledgement. She sat down next to Shadow, the owner of the hairy hand on the other side of him – a doctor with a stethoscope still draped across his shoulders and a pocketful of tongue depressors.

The cop sat back on the exam table, gun trained in their general direction, and rubbed his eyes and forehead for a few seconds. The little radio on his shoulder was going crazy with beeps and whirs and voices, and he either wanted to hear it or just didn't notice. Voices coming through the sounds and flurries of static said things like "said he was dead" and "attackers grouping up on Main" and lots of "please respond".

At last he straightened and looked at them, never taking his gun off the group of them, never taking his eyes off Shadow and the doctor. He cleared his throat like he was about to give a speech at a formal event and said, "Here's what's gonna happen, everyone: Romeo and Juliet here are going to stand in that fucking corner with the old woman– sorry, sweetheart, there's no room in my cruiser." He paused and turned his eyes to Mo, _all_ of Mo, in a way that made Shadow stir beside her. The cop gave a sick grin. "And there's no way I can leave behind Preggo, Blondie, and the good doctor. You two are going to count to 100, real loud so I can hear, and these folks are comin' with me. Us three are gonna get the fuck outta here, and I don't care what the two of you do so long as you don't come out of this room before you get done with that countin'. A doctor might come in handy, and pussy always comes in handy... Ain't that right, Preggo?"

Asher didn't answer. The cop shrugged. He gestured with his gun again. It was bad for Mo's nerves, the way he did that. "All right, Doctor and ladies... single file at the door. Blondie, you lead the way, then Doc, then Preggo. I'll bring up the rear. And you three..." He turned to Mo, Shadow, and an old woman who'd been huddled between Asher and the blonde. The old lady still sat there, hunched over with one feeble old arm reaching out to the blond girl.

The girl muttered, "Gramma," but the cop didn't seem to notice. Mo put a reassuring hand on the old lady's shoulder. The old woman cringed, and Mo could feel a bandage under her shirt.

The old woman looked up at Mo. "I was bitten," she said, shaky. "That's my grandaughter, she drove me here." Tears welled up in the old woman's eyes. "Can't you help her?" She turned her eyes to Shadow, leaning forward a bit to see him better. She sized him up, her eyes growing hopeful. "Can't _you_?"

Shadow and Mo both looked helplessly back at the woman, both of them trying to formulate an idea. She heard Asher moan a bit, sounding tired and pregnant. She looked up at her friend, concerned. The cop was herding them out of the room, directing them toward the fire exit. When Asher knew Mo was looking, she turned her eyes to the edge of the exam table, along the floor, and stared as she walked out of the room, until the cop told her to pay attention to where she was going.

Mo followed her gaze, bending down with her cheek to the floor trying to figure out what Asher had wanted her to know. Something glimmered, and Mo reached under and retrieved something sharp, like a giant needle on a handle. Something she'd seen Shadow use to patch punctured tires before. She pulled it out and slid it descreetly to Shadow. Without speaking or hesitating he stood, strode two long silent steps to the cop still standing in the doorway trying to hurry the blonde to the exit. In one quick, quiet move, he stabbed the full four inches of the sharp end into the officer's throat and grabbed the wrist attached to the gun.

Mo was determined they would find privacy before the night's end. The cop went to his knees, squeezed the trigger, and lost possession of the firearm to Shadow. A blast rang the room and corridor, the smell of smoke filled their nostrils, and plaster and dust fell down from the hole in the ceiling. When Shadow had the gun, he let the cop crumple to the floor. They managed to ignore him while he died a horribly uncomfortable death.

The three hostages were back in the room in an instant, all looking confused, the girl in her grandmother's arms and Asher locking them in and taking a seat on the exam table. "I have to," she said. "Just for a minute, please..."

Shadow gave a worried look. "We have to get out... it's been noisy back here. We'll help you walk."

He and Mo slid their arms under hers, holding her up between them. The doctor had joined the woman and girl. He spoke up. "This woman's been bitten. She won't make it much longer. I can't leave. Take the girl with you."

"I'm not leaving my grandma!" the girl piped up.

"We don't have time to argue with you, sweetheart," Asher broke in. You comin' or not? My boyfriend's waiting right outside those front doors and so's their bike. There's room for you with us."

The girl shook her head, her lips drawn tight and her hand clasped to her grandmother's. Asher nodded. "He'll drive off if they get too close. Let's go."

The three maneuvered themselves through the door and closed it quietly behind them. Mo didn't have time to contemplate the girl and her dying grandmother, or what would become of them. They stepped out into the hallway. To the right was the emergency exit. Mo heard a familiar mindless tapping outside and with a shiver turned to the left. The long hall stretched out in front of them. A tiny woman in a big flannel shirt was staggering toward them, her eyes milky blue and utterly out of sparkle. The group trudged toward her, tried to ignore the way she reached out and sped up her pace a bit. She growled, bared her teeth. Two feet from the reach of her groping hand, Shadow shot her. Blood and tissue splattered the dull wall behind her.

Out of the hall, three more were headed toward the outpatient area from further into the hospital. It didn't matter. The three of them ran through the doors. Relief flooded Asher when she saw Jason still waiting, looking coherent even, his hands at ten and two and ready for business. Mo and Shadow mounted the Indian from just inside the doors.

A handful of people, living and otherwise, were making their way to the parking lot. "Where are we going?" Mo called about above both engines.  
"Leave like you're headed for the bridge, but take a left at the light! We'll go to Aunt Mel's, it's close!" Asher called back. Mo nodded. They'd been to Aunt Mel's before. She grew some killer herb in Winter.


End file.
